


Never Ending Day + IEDs

by AppalachianApologies



Series: Schrödinger's Sandbox [5]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: As always we have a few other army folks, Bad Parent James MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016), Bombs, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, James is a shitty father, More about Mac's questionable childhood, Parental Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016), Pre-Season/Series 01, Sandbox fic, Suspense, and also some sus people, disarming bombs, i mean it's mac ofc there's going to be emotional baggage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:49:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29791485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppalachianApologies/pseuds/AppalachianApologies
Summary: The day starts early, with only a couple of bombs. But as it continues, the IEDs just keep rolling in.Or, The Day of 1000 IEDs, where Mac's with Jack, rather than Charlie.
Series: Schrödinger's Sandbox [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2157210
Comments: 15
Kudos: 43





	Never Ending Day + IEDs

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I had a lot of fun writing this one, and you can definitely see from the word count that it got a little away from me haha. Although there's not anymore information on the reports Wright is investigating, there's a lot of other tensions that are raised here, muahaha
> 
> And ofc plenty of Papa Jack for all your found family needs!
> 
> Enjoy! :D
> 
> (also my uterus is slowly killing me from the inside out so i edited this really quickly because i wanted to curl up on the bed so if there are more mistakes than usual that's why lmao)

The second before Mac slides his foot into his boot, Jack claps his shoulder with the back of his hand. “Don’t forget to dump your shoes, kid.”

In a rather dramatic display, Mac does just that, sending the older man a smirk when nothing falls out of them. “Nothing in there.”

“You’ll be thanking me the day one of those scorpions falls outta them.”

“More likely to be a spider.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jack drawls, “Do you want to squish an angry bug?”

Grinning, Mac replies, “Scorpions aren’t bugs.”

“You-” Jack cuts himself off, holding up a finger in faux warning. “Don’t even start with me kid, it’s barely 0600. You’re not allowed to piss off Jack Dalton in the mornings.”

While Mac double checks his EOD bag, he points out, “I thought we agreed that we weren’t gonna refer to ourselves in the third person anymore?”

“You agreed to that. Not me.”

Mac just rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Are you ready?”

Giving the younger man a look, Jack reiterates, “Am I ready? You’re the one I’ve been waitin’ on! Damn teenager sleeping in.”

“Still not a teenager.”

“As if anyone can tell. Alright, into the truck. We’re only going a couple of clicks anyway.”

Nearly the second Mac shuffles into the passenger seat, he’s already pulled out his knife. He wouldn’t be able to say why, but the metal seems a little bit more shiny today. Out of the corner of his eye, Mac can see his overwatch pulling some not so sneaky looks, but neither of them say anything about it.

Mac doesn’t know if he’s happy or disappointed that Jack hasn’t asked anything else about his knife, or consequently, his grandfather.

As it turns out, Mac doesn’t have time to dwell on that thought, because Jack’s already talking again. The man can barely get a full minute of silence. Then again, Mac can barely stand a full minute of sitting still, so he figures he can’t really judge. “Are there any armadillos out here, kid?”

Giving Jack an incredulous look, he questions back, “Armadillos?”

“Yeah, you know. The funky little dudes with the shells that roll around.”

“They don’t actually roll- and I know what an armadillo is, Jack.”

“So do they live ‘round these parts?”

Mac snorts. “No. They don’t even live in the same continent. Thanks for trying, though.”

“You gettin’ sassy with me?” Jack quips, lips already curling into a grin.

“No, sir!” Mac easily replies with a smile of his own. “Sergeant Dalton, Sir!” He gets a drawn out groan in response. “Why do you hate being called ‘sergeant’ so much?”

With a shrug, Jack says, “I dunno.”

“Basically everyone else is crazy about their rank.”

“And, what? I seem like one of those people?”

“Honestly?” Mac asks, “Yeah. You seem like the type.”

Surprising him, Jack just huffs out some laughter. “Couldn’t be more far off, kid.”

Flipping out the tweezers, Mac muses, “Yeah, well, I figured that out after you made me start calling you ‘Jack.’ Hey,” This time, Mac actually turns to face him. “Do you not like being called ‘Dalton’ either?”

“Nah,” Jack shakes his head, “I don’t mind it, so much as it just feels weird hearin’ it.”

“Why?” Wincing as soon as the harsh question comes out, Mac turns to face forward again. His eyes last a few moments before dropping back down to his hands and knife.

Jack shrugs again. “Feels like it should be reserved for my pops, you know?”

For nearly the first time in Mac’s life, he actually does understand that. “Yeah. I- I do know.” Then again, Jack seems to talk about his dad with nothing but appreciation and affection.

“Yeah?”

Mac can tell how close they’re getting to the topic he swears he won’t talk about, and based on Jack’s quiet confirmation, the older man knows it too. Now’s not the time to get into though. Not that there would ever be a time to get into whatever the fuck is happening with the relationship between him and his dad.

To ensure the conversation won’t continue, Mac turns the other way, hoping that it doesn’t come out as something a sulky teenager would do. He knows that Jack would tease him mercilessly if that were the case.

And then Mac sees it: a crate, nearly alone in the desert, sitting innocently on the ground. “Jack, stop!”

Pumping the breaks, his overwatch is instantly on high alert, right hand already reaching for his thigh holster. Any evidence of teasing or comradery is gone. “Mac?”

Using his left hand to point across his body, Mac answers, “There. See it?”

This time, Jack actually pulls out his pistol. “Stay in here.”

“What? No!”

“Mac,” He warns.

“There’s no one around,” Mac points out. “It’s probably a bomb, and in that case, you’re gonna need me.”

Sending him a look, Jack tries, “Just let me sweep the damned place,”

“There’s nowhere  _ to  _ sweep. It’s just the crate.”

Knowing the kid is right, Jack just swears under his breath. “Fine. But if anything, and I mean  _ anything  _ is suspicious, I reserve the right to put you back in the car, you hear me?”

Absentmindedly, Mac confirms, “Hear you,” Even though all of his thoughts are geared toward the crate. It’s a standard wooden crate, US. That’s the most concerning part about all of this. Even when empty, Mac knows that the government keeps an eye on everything that’s shipped out. 

Biting his lip in concentration, Mac walks around the crate a few times, before pulling out the screwdriver in his knife. Then, carefully, he screws off the hinges in the back, without moving the top anymore than he absolutely has to. 

“Here goes nothing,” He mumbles, mostly to himself. Mac lifts up the top a few inches, before turning to Jack, “Hold this for me? And don’t move it.”

Jack pauses for a second, before holstering his gun once again, and taking Mac’s place at the back of the crate. He looks just as on edge as Mac feels.

Clicking on his flashlight, Mac peers in the few inches of space, wincing as soon as he does so. There’s only a few wires, which means- yep. “Timer.”

“How long?”

“Long enough for me to disarm it,”

“Kid, we talked about your non answers,” Jack warns, and Mac can practically hear the sigh that threatens to escape.

“A little over thirty minutes.”

“Mac.”

“Thirty two. And twenty, nineteen, eighteen, seventeen, seconds. You can fully remove the lid now, by the way,” Mac adds, eyes scanning the inside.

Before Jack moves it, he confirms, “You sure?”

“Yeah. It’s just covered it up. Nothing’s wired up there.”

“Alright. If you can’t disarm it in time, you tell me, got it?”

Mac’s fingers are already inside the damned thing when he nods, “Mmhm.”

All things considered, it’s a pretty standard rig. Nearly threadbare, too. There’s practically no extra parts. Squinting, Mac shakes his head to himself. There’s literally no extra parts.

No extra wires to confuse any techs, and the explosives aren’t even packed in as tight as Mac’s seen before. Whoever set this was ridiculously careful. 

Mac’s not complaining about the simplicity though, after all, it’s barely sunrise. He’d rather start the day with an easy bomb if he had any choice in the matter. There are a few pieces of the circuit that Mac has to change around, using pieces of his newly replenished EOD kit, and the two paper clips in his side pocket.

When the timer stops at six minutes, thirty eight seconds, Mac gives a small laugh. The rush of endorphins after disarming a bomb is something that can never be mimicked.

“You smilin’ for something good?”

Mac jerks up, having nearly forgotten that there was another person with him. Wiping his hands on his ACUs, he gives his overwatch a nod. “We’re good. Disarmed, ready for transport.”

“Hell yeah, brother!” Jack holds his hand out for a fist bump. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Looking at the offered hand, Mac questions, “A fist bump?”

“What do you mean? Of course this warrants a fist bump! You just disarmed a surprise bomb,” Dropping his arm a little, Jack winces, “Ah, shit. I’m gonna have to call it in. But seriously, you gonna leave me hanging?”

“No,” Mac snorts, before finally completing the bump.

“My man!” Comes Jack’s reply, before losing nearly all excitement as he grabs his radio. “This is snakebite one-one,”

Tuning out the more bureaucratic parts of the job, Mac gives the container one last look before heading back to the truck, dropping himself back into the passenger seat. Already disarmed a bomb before 0700. Not anything new, not by a long shot, but still something to be proud of. Part of Mac wonders if his dad would be proud.

The thought is pulled from his head when the driver’s door swings open, and Jack clambers in. “Alright. You ready to go to the actual damned IED that we were supposed to disarm?”

Fondly shaking his head, Mac replies, “You always ask that as if I have a choice.”

“Just tryin’ to be friendly.”

“Mm.”

“Not even gonna give a response?”

Looking over, Mac deadpans, “I didn’t think that warranted any response.”

Although not without a scoff, Jack keeps his eyes on the road. “You know, for someone who’s not the talkative type, you’re sure as hell pretty sassy.”

“Sassy?”

“Yeah,” Jack nods. “You know, you’re gonna start snappin’ your fingers or somethin’. Real sassy.”

“I’m not that sassy,” Mac grumbles. “And I can’t even snap on my right hand.”

This time, Jack does actually look over. “No kidding?”

Mac shakes his head. “Nope. Even though it’s my dominant hand. I can only snap on my left.” As if to prove his point, Mac gives a few snaps in front of Jack’s face.

“I will crash this car, Mac.” All he gets is a laugh. “Seriously, though, you can’t snap with your right hand?”

“Nope.”

“It’s easy,” Jack begins. “You just sorta, I dunno, put your thumb down and snap.”

Mac turns to face him, eyes scrunched. “You’re an awful teacher, Jack. And besides, that’s not the problem.”

“What is the problem, then?”

“I can’t snap because I broke my middle finger when I was little. And now it just doesn’t bend the right way,”

_ “Bend _ the right way?”

With a wince, Mac covers his tracks, “Not like that! It bends like a normal finger, I promise. But when you snap your finger gets pushed to the side a little bit. And mine can’t do that. Not anymore, at least.”

“That’s a damn specific reason for not being able to snap,” Jack muses. “How’d you break it?”

“Uh,”

“Mac?”

“Well,”

“Please tell me this story doesn’t involve a nuclear explosion too,”

Throwing up his hands, Mac mutters, “For the last time, it was a reaction, not an explosion. Reaction!”

Grinning, Jack questions, “Is that a yes to the reason that you broke your finger?”

“No,” Mac empathetically replies. “Definitely not.”

“Alright,” He’s more than just a little relieved, “So then what was it?”

“I pinched it in a bike.”

“How’d you manage that?”

Shaking his head, Mac replies, “Bozer got a new bike, and I was trying to modify it, so he could change through even more gears,”

“Of course you were,”

Mac just scowls at him. “And while I was working on it, I got my finger caught between the spokes in the back wheel.”

“Ouch.”

“Yup,” He grimaces. “And then I freaked out, and tried to pull my hand away, which just made it worse.”

Clicking his tongue, Jack says, “Damn, that does not sound fun. Did you at least get a cool colored cast?”

“Nah. It was only my finger, so casts aren’t really necessary. Plus I just made my own splint.” Bobbing his head, Mac adds, “Well, Boze helped.”

Looking more than a little alarmed, Jack questions, “Why the hell did you make your own splint? How old were you?”

“Uh. Ten?”

“Okay, now answer the first question.”

Mac shrugs. “It was easier than going to the hospital. I could tell that it was broken from the bruising, it’s not like I needed an x-ray or anything.”

“I beg to differ, you definitely needed an x-ray.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Mac wiggles his finger, “I mean, it healed pretty normally. I can still do this,” With that, Mac flips off Jack, grinning in delight.

Despite the fact that Jack now looks more stressed than ever, he still grins back. “Hah, hah,” He drawls, “C’mon though, really. Why didn’t you go to the hospital?”

“I told you. It wasn’t necessary.” Mac knows what’s coming next, but there’s nothing he can do to stop it. Unless another IED appears in the middle of nowhere like a mirage.

“And what’d your parents think of that?”

Mac flips out the toothpick on his knife, running it along his fingers, not even realizing that he’s tracing the area of the old break. “When Bozer’s mom found out she kinda freaked out. It took me and Boze nearly thirty minutes to calm her down.” He knows Jack is biting his tongue, but doesn’t say anything. Jack can draw his own damn conclusions, for all he cares.

Not that he cares.

Obviously.

“Yeah? What about your mom?”

Well, Mac figures that the truth would have to come out at some point. Flicking the toothpick back in, Mac answers, “She, uh, she died when I was little.”

“Shit Mac,” When Jack turns, he looks genuinely distraught. “I’m sorry, man.”

“It’s fine,” Mac answers in a way that tells Jack that it’s most definitely not. “Anyway,” He swallows, “We’re at the IED. You know, the one we were actually supposed to go to.”

This time, when Mac steps out of the car, Jack doesn’t snap at him to get back. Instead, Jack spends one extra second in the truck, before hauling himself out. “You see anything?”

Mac just answers with a frown.

“Kid? ‘There a bomb around here?”

“I think,” Mac slowly answers, “There’s more than one.”

Cursing under his breath, Jack questions, “How many more?”

“I see two obvious ones…”

“‘Obvious ones’?”

“There could be more.”

Shaking his head, Jack just murmurs, “Great. I’m stayin’ close for these ones, got it?”

Mac absentmindedly nods, already absorbed into the IEDs. For the almost two months that Jack’s known the kid, he knows that as soon as Mac finds something to focus on, there’s no way to get the kid back out. He’ll refocus whenever he’s ready.

Which means that Jack’s job is even more important. He’s the only one that can protect him.

Between watching the area around them, Jack rotates to glancing toward the kid, just in case. If there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that the kid is slippery as hell. And if he notices something far off, he’ll head out that direction without even telling his overwatch.

This time, there’s a different problem. “Hey!”

Without looking up, Mac questions, “Hm?”

“Keep that helmet on, kid.”

“Need the…” Mac trails off, tongue sticking out a centimeter in concentration. “The straps. Webbed nylon can be melted, but isn’t conductive, so…”

Shaking his head, Jack counters, “I don’t care about nylon. You need to keep that head of yours safe, and you can’t do that without a helmet.”

Mac finally looks up. “I need it for the bomb.”

“Tough. Your helmet stays on. Do I need to make that a rule? No offense, but usually that’s kind of an unspoken thing.”

Although he rolls his eyes in a way that just screams ‘annoyed teenager,’ Mac dutifully clasps his helmet’s straps back around his chin. “This is gonna take me longer, now.”

“You’re not gonna get any sympathy points from me,” Jack replies. “You’re already the slowest bomb nerd in the West. I’d rather you keep your head on if you’re just gonna take longer anyway.”

Mac doesn’t even bother to reply, but instead just huffs and turns back to the IED.

Shaking his head to himself, Jack turns to watch the area once again. Damn burger kid is gonna get himself killed one of these days.

Without a way to cover wires in an airtight, non-conductive material, Mac knows that the second IED is going to be a pain. Prying open another component, Mac sits back on his heels. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise after all.

The two IEDs aren’t just next to each other, they’re connected. And if he used the nylon on the second bomb and disarmed it, the trigger would’ve gone off on the first bomb, and the detonation would've followed seconds later.

Allowing himself a single shuddering breath, Mac pushes the thought that he could’ve just died from his mind. It doesn’t matter what could’ve happened, because he’s right here right now. Nothing else is important. It’s just him and the bomb.

Well, him and the  _ bombs. _

As long as he’s able to loop the circuits, Mac knows that he’ll be able to short circuit the fuse, and then be able to safely disarm the actual explosives. It’s a slightly arduous process, but he figures that it’s better than being blown up.

And something tells him that his overwatch would agree with that statement.

It takes him a little over thirty minutes, before Mac bites his tongue, purposefully triggering the IEDs. Just as he hypothesised, nothing happens. Letting out a breath, Mac grins at the now useless pieces of plastic and metal. “We’re good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep,” Mac confirms, putting his knife back in his pocket.

Moving his rifle to only his right hand, Jack uses his left to radio out. “This is Snake-bite one-one. We’re clear.”

From beside him, Mac sighs, staring at the two IEDs as if they hold the answer to the universe. After he’s finished receiving the new orders, Jack looks between his bomb nerd and the now useless pieces of junk on the ground. “You good, kid?”

“Not a kid,” Mac mumbles, before turning toward Jack. “And yeah. I’m fine.”

“You sure? ‘Cause you don’t look it,” Jack mumbles, nearly pushing the kid to the truck. When they get inside, Jack nods to the canteen strapped to the kid’s hip. “Drink some water.”

Mac gives him a look, but obliges. Even though he’ll be found dead before admitting it, Mac didn’t even realize how thirsty he was. The desert does that. One second he’ll be fine, and the next, he’ll be keeling over in exhaustion. It used to drive his old overwatch crazy. Probably one of the reasons why he left.

“Alright kid, what’s up with you?”

Pulled out of his thoughts, Mac glances at Jack. “What’s up with  _ you? _ Why do you care so much?”

“I care because I was callin’ your name five times and you didn’t hear a lick of it.” After a beat, Jack spares a glance from the road to look at him. “Listen, I’m sorry about your mom-”

Mac’s reaction is nearly instantaneous, shoulders going taut. “It’s not about that. I told you, it’s fine.”

Although Jack’s not buying it, he won’t press it. At least not right now. “So what’s this about? This mood you got goin’ on?”

“The bombs,” Mac finally admits, pulling his knife from his pocket to fiddle with, once again. “They’re just- it’s not sitting right.”

“Alright. Talk it through. What’s not makin’ sense?”

“They were surprisingly well made. Thought out.”

“How do you figure?”

“They were connected by the same trigger. Different detonations, but, you know.”

Nodding, Jack finishes the thought, “If one went kaboom, the other would go kaboom too.” No wonder the kid’s all tense. “This the first time you’ve seen one like this?”

Scrunching his eyes, Mac asks, “With the same trigger?”

“Naw. A fancy bomb. This the first one you’ve seen?”

“I guess.” Mac wrings his fingers together around the knife, and Jack’s half convinced that if he continues it he’s gonna break the damn knife. Or his fingers. “I just- It was too well made to have been by the Taliban, or the gangs.”

Ah. And therein lies the problem. Jack knows exactly where Mac’s thoughts are going, even before the kid does.

“Someone who knew what they were doing made those two bombs. Someone who was confident, really confident, in their skills.”

“It’s not our job to find the people who make them, Mac. It’s just our job to deal with the damn things, you know that, right?” Jack questions.

Nodding, Mac confirms, “Yeah,” Even though he certainly doesn’t sound like it.

“You gonna keep your head in the game?”

“‘Course. Why?”

“‘Cause we’re already comin’ up on another one,” Jack answers with a sigh.

“Another one? There’s already been three,” Glancing at his watch, Mac continues, “Before 0700.”

Shrugging, Jack just replies, “It’s shapin’ up to be one helluva day.”

As Jack brings the truck to a stop, Mac already has his door half open. “Well,” He swallows, “It’s not like I’m going to have to look for it.”

Sure enough, there’s a small crowd of locals making a circle, staring at the ground. No matter how dangerous they know it is, curiosity always seems to win over. It’s something that Mac thinks he can relate to more than he wants.

Undeterred, Jack pushes his way though. One the locals see the American uniform, most of them scurry out. Jack doesn’t blame them. For most of them, Americans don’t mean safety. Closer to the opposite, in fact.

Crouching down, Mac mumbles, “Well, we’re not going to have the same problem as last time,” As he moves a piece of faux wood to lean against the curb.

“Does that mean you’re not gonna try and take off your helmet again?”

Peering over the sides of the device, Mac mumbles, “Well, if it’s between me or the bomb…”

Only years of working with the CIA enables Jack to keep his expression schooled. The kid just doesn’t know that he’s just a tool for disarming bombs. He doesn’t seem to grasp the idea that he’s a human. A human who has an important life.

Jack looks down at his bomb nerd, shaking his head at the younger man’s oblivion. It looks like he’s whispering something to himself, occasionally shaking his head in disagreement. With… himself.

It’s no secret that Jack’s never understood the bomb nerds he’s worked with, but Mac’s something else entirely. His mind works differently.

Of course he’s just as batshit crazy as the other techs too. Running towards explosives, putting themselves directly into the most dangerous position. They’re all adrenaline junkies, Jack knows that, even if they don’t.

Lingering eyes from the locals watch Mac, but turn away as soon as they realize Jack’s looking at them. It’s a power he feels a bit guilty possessing, but he’ll deal with the feeling if it means keeping his bomb nerd safe.

*

As Mac strips wire after wire, his mind wanders. Dad always said that was a mistake. If he can’t stay focused on one topic, he’s never going to be good at it. Chasing rabbits.

Although dad was never one for metaphors, he sure seemed to love that one. If Mac chases two rabbits, he won’t catch either of them. Unfortunately, Mac’s always been a bit of a Jack of all Trades. Smiling to himself, he wonders if his overwatch would get a kick out of that.

Wincing, Mac jerks his hand back on reflex as his knife nicks the side of his thumb. It was a stupid mistake. Flinches get techs killed. Hands have to stay steady. Mac learned that when he had to put the microwave back together after he disassembled it one afternoon.

Dad wasn’t even that mad about that one. Then again, that’s probably because Mac was able to put it all back together within the next day. He remembers working on it all night, using a flashlight with his lamp to create enough light to actually see what he’s doing.

It’s hardly a problem in Afghanistan. The desert sun doesn’t ever seem to let up.

Ignoring the little bits of blood that keep bubbling up from his thumb, Mac finishes stripping the wires, before connecting them to a new circuit. Then, with an easy couple of snips on the original wires, the bomb is defused. 

“This one’s good,” Mac says, standing up. When he looks up, he’s surprised to see that Jack’s already looking at him. “What?”

“Nothin,” Jack shakes his head. “Alright, well, let’s get moving. We already got another call.”

Mac hopes that his slumped shoulders aren’t obvious. “Another one?”

“Came in a couple of minutes ago. Gotta go East.”

Nodding, Mac follows Jack back to the truck, wiping his thumb on his pants as he sits down. It’s just his luck that his overwatch seems to notice everything.

“You good, Hoss?”

“‘Hoss’?”

“That’s the part you focus on?” Jack grumbles, double checking something on the dash. “Is your finger bleeding?”

Shrugging, Mac replies, “Nicked it with the knife. It’s fine.”

“You wanna grab a bandaid?” Mac looks between Jack and the first aid kit that he seemingly materialized. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s why we have them.”

After a beat, Mac just shakes his head, turning back forward. “I’m fine. Besides, I don’t want to cover my fingers. I need to be able to feel everything.”

Jack tosses the first aid kit in the back, before starting the ignition with a grin toward Mac. “Kinky.”

“Ugh,” Mac groans, even though he can’t help but let a smile escape too. Fine, he’s immature too. He’s only twenty though, he can’t be blamed for that.

Scratching the side of his stubble with a free hand, Jack starts, “You’ve already disarmed four bombs today. Keep that pace, it's gonna be some sort of a record.”

Although Mac certainly doesn’t disagree, he’s not exactly looking forward to finding out if that’ll be the case. “Hopefully it slows down.”

It doesn’t.

If anything, the IEDs come packing in, rapid fire style. For every one IED disarmed, it seems like two more appear. The two of them go across the entire quadrant, corner to corner, back again, and if Jack didn’t know any better, he’d swear that new IEDs were being set as soon as they leave. 

Every time Mac slides into the passenger seat, his shoulders slump a little more. The fiddling with his SAK even seems to slow down, if that’s at all possible.

Even Jack can tell that he’s stretching with every joke he makes. 

There’s four IEDs on their radar right now, but Jack takes one look at the kid and slows the truck down.

Instantly, Mac’s on high alert. “Everything okay?” He questions, looking out the window, and then to Jack.

“You tell me. When was the last time you’ve eaten?”

“I- what? Jack, we still have another click to go.”

“Yeah, I realize it,” Jack mutters, using all of his brain power to not snap. The kid hasn’t done anything wrong, but the tension is thick enough in the air for Jack’s rifle to get stuck on. “C’mon, answer me. When’s the last time you ate?”

Mac shrugs, putting his attention back on his hands now that he knows there isn’t any pressing danger. “I dunno.”

“Here,” Jack says, tossing him a protein bar.

Making a face, Mac lets it fall to his lap. “They taste like chalk.”

“Yeah? Well, they’re chalk with calories, so eat up.” Mac moves to complain, but after seeing Jack’s look, he wisely doesn’t argue. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

In between chewing, Mac murmurs, “It’s like eating a brick.”

“It’s not exactly supposed to be five-star dining. Save that for the MREs.” At least that elicit a snort from the kid.

“You mean the packets of pure salt? Pass.”

“Aww, c’mon, salt’s good for you.”

“Every time I have to eat an MRE I’m afraid that I’m gonna die from a sodium overdose.” Bobbing his head to the side, Mac corrects himself, “Sodium chloride, I guess.”

“Exaggerating a bit on the chlorine, don’t you think?”

“Chloride,” Mac corrects, before shrugging. “I’d practically do anything to have one of Bozer’s meals whenever I’m forced to eat an MRE.”

Jack does his best to not look too excited after hearing about Mac’s past life. “The bulldozer kid can cook?”

“Jack, I told you a million times, it’s  _ Bozer. _ And yeah, he’s an amazing cook. Tastes better than half the restaurants I’ve gone to. I mean,” Mac frowns, “Not that I’ve been to many.”

Raising his eyebrows, Jack questions, “Is he gonna be a chef or something?”

“Nah,” Mac shakes his head. “Wants to be a director. We used to make tons of these little movies. Boze used to spend the entire time directing us around…”

“‘Us’?”

And just like that, Mac’s shut down again. Containing a sigh, Jack watches as Mac turns toward the window, finishing off the protein bar with a wince.

By the time he’s done, it’s obvious that Mac won’t be talking about his childhood again. “We should get going. Don’t know how many more IEDs I’m going to have to disarm today.”

With a breath, Jack nods. “Alright. You keep drinkin’ that water though, you hear me?”

“Yeah.”

Jack keeps sneaking glances, but he doesn’t say anything else. As much as he wants to learn about the kid, it’d be selfish of him to distract him when he needs to be disarming bombs. He’ll pick it out of Mac at some point though.

While they roll up to the next location, Jack puts a hand in front of Mac’s chest, preventing him from jumping out of the truck like he usually manages to do. “Hold up,”

Mac takes an extra look outside, before frowning. “I thought we were the only ones around. That’s why they sent us, right?”

“Thought so too,” Jack replies, keeping a finger by the trigger of his rifle. “Let me go first.”

Mac scoffs as he gets out of the car. “As if you’ve ever said anything otherwise.”

“Damn right,” Jack seamlessly replies, before lifting his chin to the other two. He knows looks can be deceiving, but he’s been in the army long enough that he’s pretty sure both of the men are bomb nerds. 

One of them is already waiting for them when they step out of the truck. “Hey guys. We got this one.”

Mac turns to Jack for a response.

Holding up his radio with one hand, Jack shakes his head, “Must be a mix-up. We’re supposed to be workin’ this sector.”

The other soldier gives a wince. “Probably our mistake.”

Stepping to the side, Mac glances at the other tech, currently on the ground, wires twisted around his fingers. There aren’t any wire cutters in his hand, only a screwdriver. 

“Going on thirty-seven hours straight,” The first one continues. The shadows under his eyes certainly support that claim, but Jack knows for a fact that the higher-ups try not to send out their bomb nerds at night. Too many unknowns, and there’s a much higher chance that they’ll miss something.

And even though he might’ve done the fifth grade twice, Jack knows that thirty-seven hours means that they would’ve been out for the past two nights. “Yeah?”

Nodding, he continues, “Yeah. Pulled a real nasty one outta the curb earlier.”

Seemingly oblivious to the tension that keeps growing in Jack’s gut, Mac steps up, “You want another set of hands?” Mac can see that if the second soldier keeps working at it, the way he already is, he’ll be there all day.

“Nah man, we got it,” The soldier nods.

Although Mac seems to take it as an answer, it still doesn’t sit right with Jack. The problem is, he can’t even pinpoint what about it that’s bothering him.

Turning to the truck, Mac points out, “We still have a couple more to the South, Jack.” After the older man doesn’t say anything, Mac stops in his tracks. “Jack?”

However, before he can answer, the soldier on the ground looks at Mac and speaks up. “Hey,” He coughs, before continuing, “How many have you two come across today?”

Microscopically, Jack holds his index finger behind his back, where only Mac can see it. He answers before the kid can. “Eh, you know. ‘Bout an average day.” He’s far too glad that Mac doesn’t call him out on the lie. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jack nods. “Listen, we’ll get out of your hair.”

Seemingly ignoring it, the first soldier keeps his eyes on Mac. “You’re MacGyver, aren’t you? Specialist, right?”

Mac can see Jack’s shoulders tense before he even has time to digest the information. After a moment, he answers, “Yeah. Do I know you?”

“Oh, no,” He laughs, which doesn’t sound quite right with the way he talks. “Just… heard the name around, you know?”

Mac knows that it can’t be an outright lie, because it seems like everyone at camp knows him. Usually not for the good things either. “Who’re you?”

“Hartman,” He answers. “Specialist, just like you.” Hartman keeps his eyes on Mac for a few more moments, before shaking his head. “Alright, I gotta get back to this.”

“You do that,” Jack mutters, jaw clenched.

As they turn to leave, Hartman speaks up one last time, “Oh, MacGyver?”

“Yeah?”

“Good luck on the rest of your bombs.”

After a beat, Mac answers, “Thanks.”

When Jack gets back in the truck, he can’t get far enough away fast enough. 

After a minute has passed, Mac’s the first one to say it. “Something felt off.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Jack sighs, but there’s no heat behind it. “They were doing somethin’ hinky, I’ll tell you that right now.”

“Yeah,” Mac nods. “I don’t know what it was. But it just felt… wrong.”

“That feelin’ right there? You pay attention to that, okay?”

A bit surprised by Jack’s forcefulness, Mac turns. “Yeah. Okay. Why?”

Jack doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but Mac can tell he’s carrying something serious in them. “That right there, that’s your gut. No amount of school or nothin’ is as important as what your gut is telling you. You hear me?”

“I hear you. Why’re you so adamant about it?”

“‘Cause it’ll save your life if you pay attention.” Comes his cryptic answer.

Not exactly knowing how to reply, Mac just nods, putting his attention back to his knife. As he swirls it around his fingers, pulling and pushing the tools around, Mac thinks back to the time he’s spent at the camp. He’s never met Hartman, which isn’t weird by itself, but Mac hasn’t even heard the name before.

Jack’s right. Something feels wrong in his gut.

After they pull up next to the next bomb, Jack pulls out his radio, explaining to the higher-ups why they left the earlier location so quickly. Mac can hear Jack talking about how another team had it under control, but he can’t quite hear the response that they give him.

It doesn’t matter right now, though. All that matters is him. Him and the bomb.

This one has a similar trigger as the other ones he’s disarmed today. He’s dealt with enough bombs to know a signature when he sees it. Nearly half of the IEDs that he and Jack have come across today have been made by the same person who set this one.

Mac knows it’s not his job to worry about that, but that doesn’t stop his mind from jumping to all of the different possibilities. Getting lost in his brain is what’s going to get him killed, though. Both Pena and his dad said that.

Mac thinks that it’s one of his biggest problems. That Mac spends too much time in his brain, not looking at the world around him. Then again, dad would also turn around and tell him that in order to solve problems he might need to find a specific leaf on a tree, let alone a tree in a forest.

For not the first time, Mac wonders why his dad always seemed to speak in riddles.

“Shit,” Mac mumbles to himself, seeing the bomb in front of him. The trigger and explosives are directly connected, making disarming it even more dangerous. The explosives don’t pack much of a punch, as Jack would say, but instead would only give a short burst, and a minimal shockwave.

After prying another piece of sheet metal away, Mac sits back on his heels. Another shrapnel bomb. Great. Just what he needed on this hellish day. He’s already disarmed thirty shrapnel bombs today, and he’s getting real tired of them.

There’s always the fear of getting killed - it comes with the job - but shrapnel bombs are something else entirely. He wouldn’t die instantly from blast injuries, or from getting thrown against something. No, instead he would die a slow and painful death, bleeding out as pieces of metal would pierce his insides.

Like being in a huge blender.

A really, really bad blender.

“What the hell are you on about, kid?”

Mac looks up in surprise. “Was I talking out loud?”

“Yeah,” Jack scoffs. “You feelin’ alright? You’ve been blankly staring at that piece of metal. And then you started blabbin’ off about blenders.”

Rubbing a hand over his eyes, Mac just sighs. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“You’d tell me if you weren’t?”

Mac rolls his eyes. “I’m gonna get back to the bomb.”

“Hey, listen. Orange juice.”

Alright, there’s no way that Mac’s going to be able to focus on the bomb until he gets answers. “What the fuck?”

“You were talkin’ about blenders! So I’m telling you that orange juice is the way to go.”

“You make orange juice in a blender?” Mac questions, eyes narrowing.

Jack gives him a look like he’s the one talking crazy. “No! I’m talkin’ about smoothies!”

“Why are you talking about smoothies?”

“Because blenders. You know. You make smoothies in blenders. And you toss a little orange juice in? Perfecto.”

Part of Mac wishes that he just went back to focusing on the bomb. “I never made smoothies with my blender,” Mac mumbles back.

“What’d you use it for? You’re a little young for margaritas. I won’t tell though.”

“I used the blades when I fixed the Bozer’s lawn mower. And I melted down the silicon on the lid to create a watertight seal when the hose broke.”

Jack scoffs. “‘You ever use things for their intended purposes?”

Just as Mac opens his mouth to give a sarcastic reply, his eyes go wide. “That’s it!”

“What’s it?”

“I can use the shrapnel against the bomb. Not its intended purpose. The metal is reactive and conductive- it’s perfect!”

Adjusting the rifle in his grip, Jack shrugs back. “Just don’t let me go kaboom, kid. I’m almost headin’ back to Texas.”

Mac gives a mumble back, but Jack knows that he probably didn’t even hear what he said. He’s known the kid long enough to know that the second Mac gets absorbed in something, he tunes everything else out. Everything.

Out of all of the bomb nerds, this one needs an overwatch the most, Jack knows that for a fact. He can’t help but wonder if his old overwatches realized that. Or if Mac was just another job for them.

It’s only fifteen minutes later when Mac’s finished, a smile on his face.

“Good news?”

“Good news,” Mac confirms. “Disarmed.”

Holding out a protein bar for the kid, Jack questions, “You ready to go to the next one?”

“We already have another?”

“The day is cursed, kid.”

“Days can’t be cursed.”

“Well, this one is. It never fuckin’ ends. Eat that in the truck,” Jack nods to the bar. “And get some water afterward. Don’t want you keeling over at a bomb.”

“I’m not gonna die, Jack.”

Although Jack doesn’t outright deny it, he sure is thinking it. The sun hasn’t done Mac any favors for today. He knows, first hand, how miserable it is to be working out in ACUs all day. And even though Jack’s gone everywhere Mac has, he doesn’t trust the kid to take breaks.

Mac wouldn’t know self preservation if it hit him in the face.

Before either of them can continue their teasing, a deep  **_boom_ ** seems to echo through both the ground and the air.

Jack falls into his training so fast he wouldn’t be surprised if Mac got whiplash from the reaction. Pulling the rifle off his back, he stops the truck in its tracks. “Get down!” He hisses, using a free hand to push Mac’s shoulder toward the bottom of the truck.

Without taking any extra time to debate, Jack steps out of the truck, turning around to find the hostiles he knows are waiting. Just because the bomb went off miles away, that doesn’t mean the hostiles are gonna be far away too.

Half the time their bombs are just used for distractions anyway. As soon as everyone’s heads turn, automatic weapons will litter the air next. Led embedding themselves into those turned heads.

“Jack?”

“Stay down,” He calls back, not sparing a glance at him.

Mac, the damned kid that he is, keeps talking. “The echo. It’s from where we were.”

“Mac,”

“From where the other two techs were,” Mac finishes, an air of  _ something  _ in his voice. Jack can’t tell if it’s fear or defeat. Probably a combination of both.

After declaring that there weren’t any immediate threats in the area, Jack slips back into the vehicle, immediately putting it into gear. His jaw clenches so hard he’s surprised he hasn’t chipped a molar. “I knew something was goin’ on there.”

“The tech, Hartman, didn’t look like he knew how to disarm it. He wasn’t using the right tools. Do you think…?”

The unspoken words are far too loud. “Dunno, kid,” Jack answers, before holding his radio up, cutting off any other questions that Jack wouldn’t be able to answer.

After a bit of back and forth, Jack sets the radio back down. “We’re headin’ back.”

“We still have more IEDs,” Mac points out.

“Doesn’t matter when there’re hostiles in the area. Rather have us back alive then one less bomb and us dead.”

“Yeah, alright.”

The drive back is tense, and with every rock that the tires roll over, Jack can see Mac’s shoulders tighten. When IEDs go off, it’s not easy to forget that they’re in a warzone. And as much as Jack jokes and teases, nothing changes that fact.

When they get closer to the camp, Jack dares to take his eyes off the road for a few seconds to glance at Mac. “Kid, you alright?”

“Do you think they were still there?” Mac doesn’t need to expand on the question. Both of them know exactly what he’s referring to.

Exactly  _ who  _ he’s referring to.

“I don’t know,” Jack truthfully admits. “It’s not our problem though, okay? Whatever happened, happened. It wasn’t anything we did.”

“It was though,” Mac replies, before he can stop himself. “If I had stayed, I would’ve been able to disarm it. It wouldn’t have gone off.”

“Yeah? And maybe if  _ we  _ had stayed, all four of us would be going back home in pieces.”

Taking the absolute wrong thing from the statement, Mac questions, “So you do think they died.”

Sighing, Jack just focuses on the dirt in front of him. “I don’t know, kid. There’s no point thinking about what ifs though. We can’t go back to the past. Even if we had 1.21 gigawatts.”

Mac’s face just falls once again, and he doesn’t even correct Jack on movie quotes or science. Jack knows that he must be hurting even more than he lets on.

Martinez finds them seconds after they get into camp. “Dalton, MacGyver. We need reports about the two men in your quadrant.”

“All due respect, sir,” Jack starts, “But it’s been fourteen, going on fifteen hours, and we’ve been livin’ off of sandy water and protein bars.”

“Dalton.”

“Sir,” Jack counters, chin rising. Beside him, Mac just lets the scene fold out. He knows that he won’t be helping anyone if he joins in. Whatever seniority and history Jack has with everyone else, Mac certainly doesn’t. Mac’s just the problem child in the camp.

“I’ll see you at 2130. You won’t be late.”

“Yes, sir,” Jack confirms, before slinking away, grabbing Mac’s shoulder as he turns. Jack’s half sure that if he didn’t move the kid he’d just fall over his feet right there. 

He’s absolutely exhausted, and Mac isn’t even trying to hide it.

“Twenty minutes in the mess hall,” Jack declares. “Don’t eat too fast, but you gotta fuel up. It’s been one helluva day.”

Blinking, Mac nods, but barely makes any move to eat.

By the time the twenty minutes have past, he’s only nibbled on the first edible food he’s had all day. Jack shakes his head to himself, hoping that nothing will happen like before.

He doesn’t want to see the kid in the infirmary for the rest of his life. Once was already too many times.

Walking across the camp, Mac pulls out his knife. “Are we in trouble?”

“No,” Jack replies, as quickly as he can. Although he doesn’t know the full story of why Mac would instantly assume that he’s to blame for someone else’s mistake, he can guess that it has to do with his shitty childhood.

The childhood that made him step away from a comforting touch and flinch from a friendly hand. “We’re not in trouble. But we’re the last guys who saw anything, so they’re just wondering what happened.”

“Exactly,” Mac mumbles. “We’re the last people to have seen them. We should be blamed. I should be blamed for not disarming the bomb.”

“Are you out of your damned mind, kid? Why the hell would you be blamed for this?”

“I should’ve disarmed it!”

“Someone was already there. He said he had it under control. You didn’t do anything wrong. Hell, I was the one that made the decision to leave. So if anything, I should be blamed.”

“No you shouldn’t.”

Jack has to stop himself from throwing up his hands. “I don’t know how the hell you managed a thought process that puts the blame on yourself, and only yourself, but it’s wrong, Mac. We’re not to blame, and Martinez knows it. He can be a hardass sometimes, but he’s an honest man.”

Finally stepping inside the tent, Mac nods.

Despite Mac’s fears, their auditory report is just a recap of what happened. When they pulled up, who was there first, and when they left.

Exhaustion catching up to him, Mac lets his overwatch do most of the talking. Besides, he’s scary good at these things. Mac figures that he must’ve gotten plenty of practice from being a Delta.

However just like before, Mac is dismissed before his overwatch. Has he been talking to Wright more? Is there more things going on with the reports being sent out about him?

Evidently, the Colonel hasn’t learned his lesson about Mac eavesdropping, because Mac’s able to slink outside, keeping an ear out for familiar voices.

Jack’s already biting, the second Mac stops outside of the tent. “What the hell is this?”

“Dalton,” Martinez barks out. “You want to rethink that language?”

“No.”

Mac sucks in a silent breath, waiting for the reaction. He knows that if it was him, Mac would already be on the next plane to the States, dishonorable discharge in hand.

Huffing, Jack questions, “What’s with these secret talks, huh? Pullin’ me away from the kid?”

“You’re not in a position to question me, Dalton.”

“Oh, I don’t think that either of us believe that.”

“You stepped down,” Martinez snaps. “When you came back to this damned hellhole, you knew that you were stepping down. So you don’t have a goddamn right to argue with me. Do you understand?”

Jack snaps his tongue. “Yes. Sir.”

“Good. And you should be thanking me, Dalton.”

“In what world would  _ I _ be thanking you?”

“The CIA’s arriving tomorrow.”

Mac can practically feel his stomach do a somersault. If he had any real food in his stomach, he’s sure that it would’ve come back up. Everytime the CIA was mentioned at home, his dad would always be on edge. He learned very quickly that the CIA meant nothing well.

“Hell no!” Jack argues. “I told them, I told them I wasn’t-”

“I know, Dalton,” Martinez interrupts, and if Mac didn’t know any better, he would even say that his voice softens. “They’re here for an investigation.”

“Of who?”

“The two men that you met today? One of them said he was Hartman?”

“Yeah,” Jack nods. “There was only one Hartman working here. He got discharged last month.”

Even though he’s not even a part of the conversation, Mac takes a step back.

A second later, Jack asks the question that Mac was thinking himself. “Then who the hell was nose deep into that bomb?”

**Author's Note:**

> You should definitely put in a couple of tablespoons of orange juice the next time you make smoothies- I swear it makes a difference. Also smoothies have just been on my mind the past couple of days because of the chapter of Embers that I just wrote... oops
> 
> Also! I've been debating on whether or not to write the whole pressure plate with Jack scene (before he's supposed to leave, you know what I'm talking about), because if I was, that story would come next. It wouldn't be exactly how it happened in canon, but I'm curious if you all would like to read it?
> 
> I'd love to meet more of you guys, so come talk with me on [tumblr](https://appalachianapologies.tumblr.com/) (AppalachianApologies) if you'd like! I'm always so down to meet new people :D
> 
> I love you all very much, and I hope you all are doing okay. If you find yourself in a bad or scary situation, here are some hotlines (Please keep in mind that the written out numbers are US hotlines)
> 
> National Suicide Hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673  
> National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-7233
> 
> If you don't live in America and need someone to talk to, here's a list of [international hotlines.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines)  
> You are not alone, and I love you all <3


End file.
